


Sleeping All These Demons Away

by ab2fsycho



Series: Get the Chip Off Your Shoulder [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: By popular demand, DO NOT READ THIS UNLESS YOU'VE READ GHOST OF YOU, EVERY SINGLE WARNING FROM GHOST OF YOU APPLIES, M/M, i'm sorry i made stanley a bit of an ass, slenderbill is back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford has his hands full dealing with the repercussions of Bill's attack. Unfortunately, this is not the first time the demon has wrecked his life or the lives of those he loves.</p><p>Combined Sequel/Prequel to "The Ghost of You it Keeps Me Awake."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping All These Demons Away

**Author's Note:**

> I am prepared to receive hate for this. Sue me. Someone asked for it. Here it is.

He wasn't weak anymore, but he wasn't quite as strong as his dad wanted him to be yet. Fourteen years old, one of the better members of the high school wrestling team, and still not up to his family's standards. He certainly wasn't smart enough to beat Ley in a battle of wits, but he could fabricate a story to cover their asses when they got home looking less than presentable due to a hunt in the woods.

 

He also had the good sense to look at the strange shadow at the edge of the woods and just . . . know. Later that night, as his brother scribbled away in one of his journals, Ford asked him, “Is it just me, or is something following us?”

 

“Something's always following us,” Ley grumbled dismissively. Ford sighed and left the window he'd been glancing through to curl up on his bed. Sometimes he hated Ley and his stupid fascination with the supernatural. Not only did he get them into trouble over it all the time, he also had this air of 'I know the answers to everything' that only made Ford's struggle to keep up more difficult. Seemed like the only thing he was good at was making sure his twin got home at least a little in time for dinner. It was almost thirty minutes later when Ley asked him, “What do you mean, though?”

 

Ford had almost dozed off entirely when he murmured out, “About what?”

 

“Did you see something?”

 

Ford huffed. “It was nothing.”

 

After a moment of contemplation, his brother's light turned off and they were both struggling to go to sleep.

* * *

 

The phone rang off the hook, and Stanford glared at it. It had been a week. Only a week, and suddenly this was what he had to deal with. “Damn you and your motherfucking timing,” he grumbled as he reluctantly picked up the phone. He didn't even bother greeting the person on the other end, he just sighed and asked, “What?”

 

“Do you mind telling me why my grandchildren went to the hospital?”

 

Stanford pinched the bridge of his nose. Dare he even ask? He did. “How did you—?”

 

“I intercepted the bill to their parents. Care to tell me what exactly they were treated for?”

 

He cursed himself. The hospital must have sent the invoice to the insurance holder rather than to the kids who had actually received the treatment. On the one hand, he was glad the invoice hadn't gone to Dipper's and Mabel's folks. He wasn't sure Dipper would ever be ready to talk about what happened. On the other hand, did Stanley have to do this? Now? “Just mail it to me and don't worry about it.” He'd make some phone calls and hopefully make it so the twins' parents didn't have to know anything. Goddamn medical forms and shit. Confidentiality his ass.

 

“What happened, Stanford?”

 

Fuck him and that serious tone he took, trying to intimidate him. “Just minor scrapes and bruises. You know how kids are.” Dammit, you were worse, Stanford thought. “Seriously. Don't worry about it.” He hung up before his brother could protest. When he told Stanley to take a permanent vacation from Gravity Falls, he wasn't joking. He didn't need his brother to come back now of all times.

* * *

 

He dreamt of the beach and the swing set often, but very rarely was his brother beside him anymore. He used to imagine they could share these dreams through some psychic link, that they'd keep up with each other's secrets this way so no one would have to hear them whisper. But as the swing beside him continued to remain empty in his dreams, he imagined Ley running off and sharing that link he used to pretend they had with someone else. Fiddleford was usually who he imagined his brother with, now. He was much better suited for the discussions Ley liked to have about Gravity Falls, much closer to Ford's twin in intelligence.

 

A long shadow fell over him and he jumped at the unfamiliar element in the dream. Looking around, he watched as the world around him was drained of color. The life was virtually sucked out of the dream, fleeing towards someone he had never seen before. Someone who was still vivid and bright against the now black and white backdrop.

 

Beside the second swing was a tall, blonde man who wore a top hat and eye patch. Sharply dressed, his smile was tight lipped and his hands were folded behind his back where Ford couldn't see them. The boy almost wanted to stand up and run, something about the man's presence sending red flags dancing through his mind. Something wasn't right. Something felt off and he wasn't sure what it was.

 

There was something odd about the man's mouth as he asked Ford, “Mind if I take a seat?” Ford wasn't given a chance to answer as the man slid languidly onto the swing, hands moving quickly out of the teen's view. The closer he got, the more detailed his face became. Golden eyes with slits for pupils stared calmly back at him, lips still sealed tight when he wasn't speaking. Ford didn't know why, but the man's presence made him shove his hands into his pockets and slouch forward. At the same time, he kept the stranger in his sights. Something wasn't right, and until he knew what that something was, he was going to keep his mouth shut and his stance guarded. He imagined that was what Ley would tell him to do. “You know,” the stranger's voice grated on his nerves in ways no other voice had, “you look like someone I know.” Ford stiffened as the man's mouth continued to look strange and he couldn't quite figure out what about it was throwing him off. “Someone I know well.”

 

Ford couldn't have dreamed this stranger up. He had to be something else entirely, an entity of some sort. Nothing he'd ever created in his own imagination had given him the creeps the way this man did. He almost pointed out that the entity should probably go elsewhere, that the person he was looking for was probably Ley. But he found he couldn't say what he wanted to. He just couldn't. His gut told him not to and his throat closed off when he tried. So instead, he bit out, “Buzz off, Blondie,” and folded his arms across his chest. “Whatever it is, I'm not interested.”

 

There was a moment's quiet, which was soon interrupted by a surprised, “Oh,” and a chuckle that sent shivers over Ford. He turned more towards the stranger, eyes going wide as the man stared back at him with an eye illuminated by blue fire. “You're snappier than that six-fingered brother of yours—”

 

“Stanley?” Ford jumped up, backing away from the swing set and the man. Arms dropping to his sides, he lowered his center of gravity slightly as he continued stepping away while watching the stranger. The man's grin widened, and Ford was starting to see teeth. “How do you know my brother?” He started rolling up his sleeves, preparing for a fight.

 

The entity laughed again. “You could say we've had a few run-ins.” He crossed his legs, casually swinging back and forth a little as he eyed Ford. “It's interesting, meeting Stan's twin.” Ford was so transfixed by the eye that when the man smiled fully he hardly noticed why he'd found his mouth so strange. “Your brother's too smart for me, Other Stan—”

 

“My name is Stanford,” Ford snapped.

 

This only made the entity's smile widen. “Well, Stanford,” he rolled his eye and head as he pronounced the name, mimicking the teen's deeper voice, “Stan's too smart for me. Still dumb by my standards, but brainy enough to be a nuisance.” The stranger's mouth closed again and he hummed, glowing eye narrowing on Ford. “So I'm hear to speak with you instead.”

 

Alarms screamed in the back of Ford's mind as he stilled, feet digging into the sand as he assumed a fighting stance. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Why the hell should I talk to you?”

 

The stranger stood, hands moving behind his back as he kicked the swing he had been sitting on with his foot. “This was Stan's, no?” Ford didn't answer as the chains squeaked with each sway. “Let's just say that if you don't help me out,” the man held up a gloved hand with the fingertips cut off . . . no . . . the fingertips were torn. Ford's eyes widened as the stranger snapped his clawed fingers and a chain on his brother's seat snapped, half of the seat hitting the sand with a thunk. Ford's heart stopped and the air in his lungs fled through his mouth in a gasp as his fists unclenched. “Is that clear enough for you, or should I spell it out?”

 

Ford stared at the swing, knowing better than to retort. Ley. Ley's life was at stake. Millions of thoughts raced through his head, millions of questions about why an entity would be threatening his brother's life. Had he pissed him off? Had he discovered something he shouldn't have? Was something going to happen he didn't know about? All of these thoughts went crashing through his mind, but the only one that ricocheted out of his mouth was, “You son of a bitch!” He started towards the man only for his feet and legs to be sucked down into the sand. He threw his arms out in a desperate attempt to slow his fall. “No! No!” he cried as quicksand started swallowing his torso, pulling him down.

 

The entity clicked his tongue at Ford as the skies darkened and lightening flashed. Had the scenery really changed that swiftly? Was he . . . was the stranger controlling it? The man knelt down before Ford, running a hand through the boy's roughly cut hair. “Ooo,” he crooned, twining his fingers in the brown locks and gripping rough enough to bring a gasp and a cry from Ford. “So much softer than it looks. I like.” Then the stranger yanked his head back and breathed the inquiry into Ford's ear, hot breath making him shiver, “Do you know what Stan's nightmares are about?”

 

“Go to hell, asshole! Don't you touch my bro—!”

 

The grip on Ford's hair tightened, silencing him. “Drowning. He's so terrified of drowning, no wonder he doesn't appear in your pitiful little imaginings anymore. He practically cringes at the sight of water.” Ford's eyes widened and began tearing up as he felt his body sinking deeper into the sand. He whimpered, but the sound was overwhelmed by the stranger's whispered promise, “Help me out, or I'll drag your brother to the very bottom of the deepest trench and you will never see him again.” Ford lurched forward, ready to sink his teeth in the man's neck to force him to let him go. The man let him go, dodging Ford's teeth. The teen screamed when he saw the stranger's eye glowing black, his hair now red and grin fully illuminated by the aura surrounding him. “Careful Stanford,” the man's many, many fangs flashed, “I bite too.”

 

Ford woke up screaming, ears ringing and sweat covering his body. The image of the stranger's fanged grin still lingered no matter how many times he blinked.

* * *

 

He stayed up whenever Wendy and Mabel weren't there to hear the screams. Most of the time, they never came. That night, they did.

 

How Stanford managed to skip steps going up to the attic at his age was a wonder in and of itself. “Help me! Help me, please!” his great nephew shouted. Whether he was awake or not, Stanford didn't know. He just knew he needed to get to him before he hurt himself.

 

“I'm coming, kid, I'm coming!” The door slammed against the wall and Stanford's hand slammed down on the light switch. Light blinded him, but he could see his nephew was in fact awake. He was sitting upright in his bed, tears streaming down his face and blood on his hands. Stanford froze at the sight.

 

Dipper's eyes locked with the blood and his red, watering eyes shot wide. “No _no NO_!”

 

With shaking hands, Stanford planted himself on the bed in front of his hysterical nephew. “Dipper, listen,” he spoke uncharacteristically soft, hesitant to put his hands on his nephew's shoulders. “Listen to me—”

 

“He's coming for me, oh God he's gonna get me—”

 

“Son, it's gonna be—”

 

“Don't let him take me, I can't go back, please—!”

 

“Son, stop,” Stanford grabbed his nephew's shaking head and forced him to look him in the eye. When Dipper hushed, lips quivering as he fell silent, only then did he actually stop to hear Stanford speak. “Dipper, let's think logically,” although logical thinking was never his favorite thing. He dropped his palms from the young man's face and gently took his nephew's hands, relieved when the young man didn't jerk away. That happened sometimes, and it was difficult not getting frustrated about it. He had to be understanding. He had to be patient. He'd been there before, he knew what it was like. Looking down at his great nephew's trembling hands, it was a fight just to keep from pulling the sobbing teen into a protective hug. He was farther from affectionate than a cactus, but he knew that was possibly what the young man needed after an ordeal like the one he'd been through. Analyzing the blood on the teen's fingers, he asked, “Did you check your stitches?” Dipper was breathing so heavily, eyes locked on the blood on his hands as he shook his head. “Okay, can you pull up your shirt and check?” Dipper went still, struggling to breathe and cease his frantic sobs. Stanford counted to ten to keep from shaking his nephew. That wouldn't help. It would only make his condition worse. “It's only a nightmare, son. I don't think it's him, but just in case let's make sure your stitches haven't opened up.” Seeing the blood seeping through on a small section of Dipper's shirt, Stanford prayed that was all and that there wasn't a fresh wound waiting there as a warning.

 

He was proud of Dipper when the young man managed to look him in the eye and admit, “I can't.”

 

“It's okay,” he said in place of berating him. Dipper had tried being strong for a long time from what he had gathered. As far as his Grunkle Stan was concerned, he could be weak for as long as he needed to recover from this. To hell with telling him to toughen up like he used to. Dipper had done the best he could in an awful time. Before reaching forward to check himself, he asked, “Will you be okay if I look?”

 

Dipper's breath stuttered as he began slowly reining in his cries. Clamping his mouth shut, he nodded and closed his eyes. The young man held his breath as his great uncle carefully reached for and raised the hem of his shirt, quickly taking in the damage. He sighed with relief when he realized it really was just torn open stitches bloodying the teen's shirt and hands. “Is it—?”

 

“Just your stitches, like I told you. You must have gotten rough with yourself in your sleep. Sound plausible?” Dipper gulped and let out the air he had been holding, trying to breathe normally as he nodded. “Do you wanna talk about the dream?” Dipper shook his head, pulling his hands towards his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. Tears ran down his cheeks and Stanford wished he could take away the pain. He wished he could just pass on the more than thirty years of experience he had with nightmares to Dipper. He was glad he didn't have to ask the kid's permission or whether or not he needed it before Dipper leaned into his great uncle's chest. Carefully wrapping his arms around the young man, Stanford rubbed the portion of Dipper's shoulder that he knew wasn't hurt in any way from the attacks. “It gets easier, kiddo,” he promised.

 

“I know,” Dipper agreed quietly, sadly. He knew, but he still wished it would just get easier sooner. Dipper struggled to stop crying, fought to regain control over himself.

 

With this, Stanford could be patient. Tending to the now reopened wound could wait. For now, Dipper just needed to let it out and remember where he was and who he was with.

 

Or, more importantly, who he wasn't with.

* * *

 

“Wake the hell up, Ford.”

 

He jumped at Ley's command, somewhat grateful for the distraction as he'd been feeling fingers in his hair all day. Whether it was real or not . . . he didn't know yet. All he knew was that he'd started avoiding sleep, because now every dream now featured the blonde stranger who somehow knew the Pines twins. Every time he fell asleep, the man had questions Ford couldn't understand and didn't have answers for. He was beginning to think the entity didn't want answers so much as he wanted a plaything.

 

Ford started drifting off, remembering painfully the entity's words as he dangled Ford over the rail of the water tower. “What's the matter, Stanford? Afraid of heights?” Ford's knuckles went white as he recalled what had happened in the dream, spine going stiff at the memory of his own screams. “All I need is one tiny answer: what's Stan writing in those journals?” Ford recalled not answering quick enough, could almost feel his shirt slipping from the man's hands. “Whoops! Better talk fast! Don't think I can hold you up much longer.” The height was dizzying, Ford's eyes locked on the ground where he estimated he would land. His heart pounded in his chest at the memory, breathing growing shallow. “Ding! Time's up, kid.” And then he was falling and his breath caught in his lungs and he couldn't scream, he couldn't even bring himself to scream—

 

“Stanford.” He jolted upright gasping as Fiddleford grasped his shoulder firmly and shook. “Stanford, you okay man?”

 

He wanted to shake his head, wanted to answer honestly, wanted nothing more than to tell them what was going on. Instead, he kept his mouth shut. He remembered the frequent warning the stranger gave him, “This is our little secret, or else Stan's gonna get a surprise.”

 

“I'm fine,” Ford muttered, leaning back in his chair and hoping that would keep him from drifting off again. Listening to the nerds prattle on about their next hunt, he loved how they just assumed he would be joining them. Then again, if he didn't, how would either of them make it home safe. Sometimes they seemed oblivious to just how dangerous the things they were chasing could be.

* * *

 

Another trip to the hospital to take care of his nephew's open stitches left them both exhausted, so by the time the phone reached the answering machine Stanford couldn't be bothered to pick up. After the initial greeting, the beep sounded and he covered his face with both hands as the message played, “You're hiding something from me, Ford. I'm not an idiot. Now what the hell is going on? Don't try and lie about it either, I'll know.” He erased the message as soon as the option was available.

 

He turned to head back to the kitchen only to find Dipper standing in the doorway. Without having to ask, he knew the teen had heard the message. He could see the teen swallow hard before he uttered, “You haven't told him?” Stanford shook his head and his nephew cast his gaze downward. “Thanks.”

 

Stanford's brow furrowed. “No problem, kiddo.” It really wasn't his business to tell anyone.

 

“I'm just not,” one of the kid's hands rubbed the inside of his arm nervously as he searched for words, “I'm not exactly ready for him to know.”

 

Stanford understood. He had his own reasons for not wanting to get the young man's grandfather involved yet, though. “No one but the family here needs to know. If you wanna tell anyone else, that's your choice.” He moved to pat Dipper on the shoulder, smiling when the motion actually seemed to comfort his nephew. “You're safe now, alright? Now let's guzzle some caffeine or something and pick out a tattoo for you.”

 

Dipper nodded, gladly indulging in junk food and energy drinks with his great uncle as they both demonstrated how awful they were at drawing things. Anything to keep him up and to keep his mind off the subject his Grandpa Stan was trying to pry into.

* * *

 

“It's cute how you think you can hide from me.” Ford kept his mouth firmly sealed, stopping breathing entirely every time he thought the entity was near. He shook so hard, he was certain he'd be found. What he would give just for one night's rest, just for one more dream where he wasn't running, hiding, being dangled over cliffs and rails. He couldn't stay awake in class anymore, couldn't go on hunts with Ley and Fiddleford. He was too tired. He was always too tired and too scared and this was exactly why he was starting to pull himself out of Ley's business entirely. Maybe if he did, the stranger would lose interest and just leave him alone. “Oh Stanford!” the man called out, voice so much louder than before. Ford sank further down in the underbrush. This dream looked so much like the Gravity Falls woods, but he knew as soon as he thought he was in a familiar place he'd be lost again. So he hid. He hid, and he waited as long as he possibly could. Please just go, he begged internally. Just go, leave me alone. I don't know anything I swear— “Hey there, best friend!”

 

“No!” Ford screamed as something (a branch, it looked like) wrapped around his ankle and yanked him from his hiding spot. Raised above the stranger's head, he dangled by his foot from a tree that had been manipulated to seize him. Dizzy and scared, he immediately started swinging only for the blonde man to laugh at him. “Just let me go, you one eyed bastard!”

 

“How rude,” the stranger growled, fanged grin flashing dangerously as his eye glowed black. Ford went still, tremors flooding his body as blood rushed to his head. He hated himself for how he whimpered and closed his eyes when the man threaded his fingers through his hair again. “And after all the fun we've had, too.”

 

“You call this fun?” Ford spat. He swung again only for more branches to reach out and wrap around his fists. He pulled against the wooden limbs, but they held fast. Panicked cries started leaving his mouth as his head started aching from the prolonged position upside down.

 

His skin felt cold and clammy as he stared fearfully at the stranger, who just continued smiling even as his hair and the energy surrounding him started bleeding red. “You know, you're right.” Oh God, he was agreeing with him. Somehow that only made Ford's flesh crawl more. “Things have gotten a bit boring lately. I don't even have any questions anymore. I already know everything.” It seemed like he knew everything before. “It's just so fun playing with you. I just can't let you go,” he said so mirthfully the boy actually grew more scared. Ford gasped at a rough tug on his hair, eyes shutting as the stranger whispered, “Let's play a little game.” Suddenly Ford was released by the tree and he hit the ground hard, landing directly on one of the tree's raised roots. The air was knocked from his lungs as something cracked in his torso and pain shot through him. Glasses now missing, he whined as the stranger knelt before him and yanked his head back by the hair again. He stared at the blurred version of the grinning man before him. “Stan and his cooky friend are researching some things they shouldn't be. Convince them that I'm visiting you before I find out what it is, and all this will end.” The stranger held his free hand out to Ford and he saw it catch fire. Ford's eyes went wide at the sight as the word 'demon' flashed in his mind. “Do we have a deal?”

 

He felt incredibly stupid. Of course he was dealing with a demon. What else would drain him and eat away at his conscience like this? And he was about to make a deal with him. The deal was easy: Ley would believe anything he said. Shaking the stranger's hand, he growled, “Get ready to be exorcized, asshole.”

 

A wave of uncertainty washed over him as the man chuckled darkly. “We shall see.”

 

The next morning, he told Ley everything he could think of about the blonde man. He told him what he was after, told him what he'd been doing to Ford, he even gave him a description to go on. Just as he suspected, his brother accepted everything he said as truth. “I'm gonna send a friend of mine to take care of it,” Ley uttered.

 

Ford squinted. “What? Friend? What are you talking about?”

 

Ley smirked cracking open one of his journals. “I've been talking to someone. He's a powerful dream demon. I'm sure he'll help.” Opening the journal to a particular page, Ford was confronted with an image of a pyramid with an eye. Snorting, he was about to make a dig at his brother befriending a geometric shape when something cold settled in his guts. “His name's Bill. He's cool.”

 

Ford didn't feel right looking at the page, reading the entries his brother had put down. They described the demon as being friendly and rather helpful, and Ford started to feel sick. He told himself it was from sleep, but he wasn't sure he believed that. “If he's so cool, why didn't you introduce me?” he asked. As far as he'd known, Ley only had one friend and it was that dork Fiddleford.

 

Ley then snorted at him. “You already gripe about the other monsters I show you. Why would I introduce you to the best?” Closing the journal, he said, “Besides. You'll meet him soon enough.”

* * *

 

Stanford got a call from the high school one day and was forced to close up shop to go pick up Mabel. When he got to the school, he was approached by several administrators talking about how she had assaulted a boy and how he should be thankful the kid's parents decided not to press charges on her. She was going to have to be suspended and the only reason they were going easy on her (they called this going easy) was because she was so close to graduation. His first thought was of how he was getting too old to suddenly be someone's parent. His second thought, as he caught a glimpse of the assaulted kid (okay damn, now he understood why the parents were upset), was why.

 

“Did any of you think to ask why my niece did this?” The administrators looked offended at the question, but no one answered him. “Mabel doesn't just haul off and punch just anyone. What did the kid say to her?”

 

“Mr. Pines, the victim says that the attack was completely unexpected. We don't think—”

 

“Let me speak to my niece. In private.”

 

They didn't argue. They simply allowed him into one of the offices and ushered Mabel inside with him. When they were alone, he could finally see that her eyes were red and puffy from having cried so much. “I'm sorry, Grunkle Stan.” Her voice croaked from the sobs he hadn't been there to hear.

 

“Don't be sorry. Just tell me what he did.” He folded his arms to keep her from seeing him clench his fists.

 

She hesitated, wiping at her eyes self-consciously. He could see marks on her knuckles from where she'd waled on the kid and he had to physically restrain himself from patting her on the back because damn, she learned how to punch well. “He . . . he called me a slut, but that's not why I did it.” Had the standards for relationships changed? Stanford caught himself thinking. Since when did terms like that apply to his niece, who had been in stable a relationship for months now? Why was it even still a word? He waited patiently as she gathered herself together enough to whisper, “He also . . . he said . . . he said Dipper was a wimp.”

 

Stanford's eyes narrowed. “Did he give a reason?” She nodded. Stanford's stomach dropped and he knew where this was going, but he had to ask, “What did he say?”

 

She inhaled loudly, eyes flashing as she got angry all over again. That's his girl. He knew that look. “He said Dipper should be happy anyone would even date him, and that he should stop whining about the attack and man up.” Stanford's blood ran cold over the stab at the story they'd conjured as to why Dipper was so brutally injured. He was about to speak, but she started gesturing and ranting, “He barely talks as it is, but when he does they just start picking on him, and they keep picking on him, saying he should just show them the stitches and maybe then they'd give him a break, and they were at lunch talking about it, and I just,” her eyes welled up with tears again, fists clenching, “I heard it. I was so tired of hearing it, of hearing them say shit about him like they know what happened, like they were fucking there—”

 

“Mabel sweetie—”

 

“They have no idea what happened—!”

 

“Mabel, it's okay,” he placed his hands on her shoulders and felt just how much she was shaking with rage. She bit her lip to regain control of herself, but her fists remained clenched and her eyes continued to water. “But for future reference, maybe you should wait till you're off school property to get your retribution. Okay?”

 

She sniffled, still stiff under his hands as she asked, “Like a bully?”

 

“They get away with everything for a reason.” He pulled her under his arm, then said, “Now let's get these jerks to call your brother in. Let's play hooky.” Of course, when he stepped out his first words to the administrators were, “You should punish that little punk too.”

 

There was a reason public schools still didn't like him to this day.

* * *

 

“Doesn't matter how old I get, it still feels so fucking good when I win.” Ley hadn't believed him. Ley had abandoned him. Ley had trusted Bill, and Bill . . . Bill had fooled them all. “Now, I've got you and your brother in a bag, and boy is this gonna be a hell of a ride.”

 

“You lied to me,” was all Ford could say as he lay on the cold ground. It was completely dark all around him, the only light coming off the stranger who he very quickly discovered was none other than Ley's 'friendly demon' Bill. “You tricked me,” he uttered brokenly. While he was angry with Bill, he wasn't nearly as devastated by the demon's lunacy as he was shattered by the fact that his brother just didn't believe him. He'd said everything he could say, pointing out that as a demon Bill could probably change shapes to suit his needs. Ley hadn't listened. He continued to rattle off that if Bill wasn't worried, then neither of them should be either and couldn't even fathom that the problem _was_ Bill. Ford had even pulled the information about Ley's nightmares, saying he knew from Bill that he feared drowning.

 

Ley's response? “No, you fucking moron.” That was the end of the discussion.

 

“Hello, demon,” Bill jested. “You know what I think? I think,” he heard the demon snap his fingers and the crackle of a flame caught Ford's attention, “I should brand you.”

 

Ford ignored the pain of his twin's betrayal, eyes growing wide as he rolled onto his back and started kicking away. “No! Whatever you're planning—!”

 

“Oh, don't be such a baby, Stanford,” Bill said as he heated the end of his cane with the flame. He advanced on the boy, watching with a sick sort of pleasure as he neared enough to place a foot on Ford's stomach and force him to be still. Ford gasp as the demon dug his heel into him, hands going to the foot to try and pry it off his abdomen. “Now where should I put it?”

 

“Leave me alone! I have nothing you want! I'll never help you—”

 

“Au contraire, my stupid little possession,” he ground the heel deeper into Ford's gut and the boy's mouth gaped at the pain, “it isn't something that you have that I want. I just want,” the foot left Ford's gut and suddenly he was flipped over onto his front again, “ _you_!” Bill jerked the sleeveless shirt Ford was wearing to the side and the heated point of the cane sank into the flesh of his right shoulder. Ford screamed as the smell of his skin being burned reached his nostrils, sweat pouring down his face and over himself as he kicked and tried to get out from under the demon. The demon responded by straddling Ford's lower back, keeping him still and digging the cane into his shoulder even harder. When the demon was satisfied with what he'd done, the cane dropped to the side and Bill leaned down. His scentless breath blew across Ford's face as he whispered, “Don't worry. I've got you.” A hand ran through Ford's hair and he shuddered under the demon. “Promise I'll take good care of you. You are a _very_ important pawn to me, dearest Stanford.” He was so focused on the burn on his shoulder, which continued to be just as painful as when Bill had initially placed the cane to his skin, that he almost didn't feel the demon shoving the other side of his top off his left shoulder. “Now I just need to,” Ford's eyes went wide as the demon's mouth neared his bare skin, “break you.” The demon bit through his flesh, breaking skin. Ford grit his teeth, but screams still ripped from his lungs no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. He tried shifting his weight, but the demon was holding him down with his body and he couldn't get him off, he needed to get him off of him.

 

His teary eyes flashed to the cane and his hand shot out to it. “That wasn't part of our deal!” he cried as he swung the cane at an awkward angle that only served to make the pain from the burn so much more prominent. It hit the demon hard enough that his mouth tore from Ford's shoulder and he sat up. Bucking against him hard enough to through him off balance, Ford scrambled out from under Bill as soon as he saw the opportunity. Spinning around to face him, he gripped the cane in his hands and shouted, “I didn't agree to be yours!”

 

“You shook my hand, didn't you?!” the demon bellowed, growing in height as his image slipped into the red and black color scheme. Ford backed away, still holding the cane close as he saw his blood dripping from the demon's mouth. Bill licked at the blood, voice deepening as he growled, “I own you!” In a flash of movement, the demon was upon him, clutching at the cane as well and leaning his face towards Ford's. Ford didn't mean to scream, but he did. “You got that, kid?!”

 

He didn't let go of the cane, instead continuing to hold onto it as Bill tried yanking it from his hands. He didn't know why he thought he was going to be able to overpower the demon. He at least hoped he'd be able to fight until morning. “This was never in the deal, you never said anything about this,” he cried, voice smaller and more strained than before.

 

Suddenly there was a kick to his stomach and he was on the ground again, pain shooting through his middle and other injuries. “You lost, Stanford! Now your dreams belong to me.” His glasses started slipping from his face, and were completely knocked off when he jerked in response to the cane slamming down on his middle. Curling up, tears started spilling down his face and he couldn't see. He blearily stared at the glasses, which lay just within reach. Soon, a foot dropped down on the pair and the glass was smashed into the floor. Bill twisted his foot, making sure the glasses were good and broken before he declared, “I admire your stubbornness, Stanford.” Then Ford was being jerked up off the ground by his hair, roots giving and cries lodging in his throat as he closed his eyes against the agony. He grit his teeth once more and held onto Bill's wrist as the demon shouted in his face, “But I also fucking  _hate it_ .” He lost all sense of orientation as the demon slammed him against a hard surface, pressing himself against the boy and pinning his wrists to whatever it was (wall, ground, ceiling) he was up against. He almost drove his knee upward into Bill's groin (all forms of fighting etiquette were out the window as far as he was concerned), but was very quickly paralyzed by how close to Bill's teeth was to his cheek. “I'd love to chew your face off, kid. I'd just love to.”

 

“Do it, asshole!” he shouted, glaring with what little courage he still had. It was very quickly dwindling with the demon this close in proximity.

 

“No.” The demon's hand suddenly locked on Ford's crotch and the boy gaped and gasped and stared at the blurred demon in horror. His whole body gave and started shaking and he hadn't known he could be this scared. He'd been afraid before, but this was . . . this was a brand new caliber of fear he'd never considered before. “If I'm going to break you,” the demon's hand squeezed and Ford bit his lip to keep from crying out as tears streamed down his face, “I'm going to have to be a little more,” teeth grazed teasingly at Ford's jaw and he was whimpering now, “subtle.” Ford's heart was beating rapidly and painfully now as every last bit of him protested the way Bill groped him, pressed against him, ran his tongue over his jaw line _oh God no please not this._

 

“You fucking bastard, I'll stop you,” he uttered, his fearful voice the furthest from threatening it had ever been. “I'll stop you, and I'll—”

 

“How you gonna stop me, Stanford? The one person you counted on doesn't even believe you. He thinks I'm nice. He thinks I'm,” another squeeze to Ford's nether region made the boy scream despite his best efforts, “helpful.” The demon laughed in his ear, the dark sound accompanied by the buzzing of his nerves, the shallowness of his breaths. He turned his head away from the demon's mouth as much as he could, but Bill followed and disallowed him the reprieve. “I have you, and I have your brother. I could rip both of you from your pitiful existence.” The hand left his crotch and Ford breathed a sigh of relief, which quickly turned into another cry as Bill dragged his claws down his side. The demon's lips brushed his ear as he whispered darkly, “Keep that in mind as you try and escape me.”

 

Ford woke up sweating around three in the morning. That was normal. He woke up feeling the effects of having had to struggle all night with the stranger who turned out to be a demon. That was also normal. What wasn't normal was waking up feeling completely helpless and unable to fight back. He'd always been able to fight back. He was thoroughly exhausted from fighting back.

 

But perhaps the thing that made the situation more dire was the burn mark on the back of his right shoulder, the bite mark on his left, and the claw marks down his side. A mixture of fury and terror shook him as he covered his face and tried not to scream. “I have to save us,” he swore. “I have to keep us safe.” That's all he'd ever done. Glaring at nothing in particular, he let his fury win out over his terror as he snarled, “I will stop you.”

 

When he reached for his glasses and realized they were just as broken in reality as they had been in his dream, his eyes went wide as he heard Bill laugh. For some reason, it wasn't the injuries that had appeared even outside of the dream world that destroyed his anger and replaced it with sheer terror. It was the feel of his glasses beneath his fingers, crushed in much the same way as if they'd been stepped on.

 

As he slowly started to feel himself crumble, he felt a hand in his hair and the words, “Who's gonna believe you, Stanford?” filled his ears.

* * *

 

“You should have told me!”

 

Be cool, Stanford. How could he know? How could he possibly know? Even if he did know, the kids weren't around to hear the conversation devolve. “What the hell are you blabbering about now?”

 

“You think I didn't figure it out? You think you could keep this from me?!” He heard papers rustling, and his blood started to run cold. “Kids just being kids, right? Stitches for multiple deep cuts? Teeth pulled? Strange symbols on side? Stanford fucking Pines, what happened to my grandkids?!”

 

“Why are you going through their information, Stanley fucking Pines?!” How the hell did he keep getting information about them? Did the hospital not have any goddamn filters? At least they hadn't listed the one treatment Dipper sure as hell didn't want anyone to know about. “Don't you think that if they wanted you to know they would've told you? Use that brain of yours, Poindexter!”

 

“Something happened to my grandchildren, and if you're not gonna tell me then I'll figure it out my damn self.”

 

Stanford picked up the other end of the phone so he could pace with it easier. “You listen here, bucko: if they haven't told you about it, then you have no right to go snooping. Got it?”

 

“Bit hypocritical coming from you, don't you think?”

 

“I did what I had to do to keep both of our asses covered. Not all of us have the luxury of being driven mad and forgetting half our lives like McGucket.”

 

“I have a right to know—”

 

“So do their parents, but you don't hear them calling and bitching me out.”

 

“Strange. Symbols. Strange symbols carved into his side. Tell me Ford. Tell me please—”

 

“Why don't _you_ tell _me_ since you already seem to know so much?”

 

There was a silence so deafening on the other end that he thought the line had gone dead. It wasn't until he heard his brother suck in a breath that he started to feel guilty. Then came the inevitable question, “Is he gone?” Stanford reached up to cover his face with his palm. When he didn't answer immediately, Stanley's voice started to pick back up as he growled, “Did you banish him? Is he gone? Ford, tell me—”

 

“We took care of it. Okay? He's not coming back unless some dumbass summons him.”

 

From that point, Stanford started counting down from ten till Stanley had a meltdown. He'd just hit three when he heard the intake of breath that was the prelude and had to hold the phone from his ear lest his eardrum be shattered. “Why didn't you call me, you stupid fucking—?!” There was a loud, almost methodical smacking sound that indicated Stanley was banging the phone against the wall or some other hard surface. Stanford glared at his phone, waiting for the tantrum to stop so that maybe he could talk some sense into his twin.

 

The banging stopped long enough for him to ask, “Are you done?”

 

In response, Stanley shouted, “What made you think you could handle banishing him by yourself?!”

 

“We didn't have time to wait around for you to show up,” Stanford spoke much softer than his brother, but he was no less frustrated. Against his will, his mind flashed back to what exactly had happened when they'd set upon banishing the demon. “He'd already tried to kill one of us, and he would've,” oh no, “he was going to,” oh no Stanford, don't do this now, “he,” he bit his lip, fighting back the urge to hyperventilate by sucking in as much air through his nose as possible before spewing, “ _goddammit Ley_!” He wasn't supposed to talk about this. Dipper wasn't ready. Mabel wasn't ready.

 

He wasn't ready.

 

It felt like several minutes had passed before Stanley uttered the words Stanford really didn't need to hear right then. “I'm coming up there.”

 

“Don't you—,” the phone clicked. It was too late.

 

When the twins came home, he was still sitting in his armchair. He felt totally lost, and he didn't have the heart to prepare them for the appearance of their somewhat estranged grandfather.

* * *

 

It had taken much longer than normal to get his glasses replaced, and Ford somehow found a way to blame Bill for that. He was stuck in a blurred world for too long, and he was being driven crazy because he wanted to go through Ley's stuff and fight all of his research on demons and possibly banishing them.

 

And even when he'd gotten his glasses, he knew he was never alone. He was always being watched. He would have to wait until Bill was preoccupied to do anything. That included research and setup. Then again, the only time he was preoccupied was when he was allegedly working with Ley. Ley still had no idea. Ley still thought Ford was just having some serious nightmares and that Bill had nothing to do with it. Ford knew he wasn't always the most truthful person, but he wasn't this much of a liar. If anything, he really only started lying when he had to constantly reassure his brother that he was fine and that he didn't mind how often Ley preferred the company and hunts with Fiddleford.

 

He was on the verge of tears, leaning over the sink in the kitchen thinking that he was totally alone in the house. His body ached from exhaustion, from the bruises, from the scratches, from the bites and burns he kept hidden. The one time he'd been bruised enough for Ley to notice, Ley just thought it was from wrestling too much. Ford was never willing to show him the scratches and bites. They tended to be in places he was too embarrassed to even think about.

 

He felt the room shift for a moment, and knew it was one of those rare times Bill wasn't hovering over him in a different realm. Instead of taking action, he wound up just breaking down and crying. Shoulders shaking, he couldn't stop. Whether it was from exhaustion or the pain of his injuries or the stress of trying to work around an ever present demon, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that all of these things combined created a pressure that was about as heavy as the presence of said demon.

 

Someone touched his arm and he almost whirled around and punched whoever it was. The stricken look on Fiddleford's face was enough to make Ford pause mid swing. He tried calming down, immediately wiping at his face and turning away. “Ley's not here,” he croaked out, hoping the nerd would just go away and leave him alone. Moving away from Fiddleford and the sink, he started to head to his room. He had a lot to get done and very little time.

 

“What's wrong?” Ford shook his head at the question, and he could have screamed at his luck. Now, of all times, someone wanted to know what was wrong with him.

 

“Nothing,” he lied, not even bothering to stop.

 

It was just his luck that Fiddleford followed him anyway. “Something's wrong, Stanford. You're not the same—”

 

“What a fucking shocker!” he bit out before he could stop himself. “I told you Ley's not here. Go help him—”

 

“You realize you're my friend too, right?” Ford didn't swing when Fiddleford pulled him to a stop then, but he didn't turn fully to face the other man. “Right now, I did think Stanley needs me as much as you might.”

 

“Look,” he almost heard a clock ticking, counting down the moments till Bill came back and started hovering again. He didn't have time for this. “Unless you know how to banish a demon who is always, _always_ watching you, I don't need you.”

 

Fiddleford went silent and Ford covered his face with both hands. That was stupid. That was so fucking stupid, he should have known better. He should have kept his mouth shut and just shrugged the nerd off. Now he was going to run back and tell Stanley and Bill would find out and then he'd never get the opportunity to do this again and oh God no what had he done—? “How quickly do you need this?” Ford went still. “I can leave now, and call you to come over when I've got everything set up.”

 

Ford turned slowly, eyes wide and hands shaking. Could he? Would he really? Could Ford trust him to do this? “You're not . . . you believe me?” Fiddleford nodded. “You're . . . not even gonna ask?”

 

“All I need is the demon's name.”

 

Ford's heart and stomach dropped as he squeezed his eyes shut. He should have known it was too good to be true. He just . . . he should have known. Chest tightening, he started to turn away when Fiddleford touched his arm again. This time, instead of simply jerking away, he growled, “Don't touch me,” and glared at the smaller boy. Fiddleford back up, looking scared as Ford snarled through gritted teeth, “Just go. You can't—”

 

“Yes I can.” The force with which it was said threw Ford for a loop. “And I will.” Fiddleford turned away and started marching out. “I'll call you. Hell, I'll hambone it to you. If you see Ley, tell him I had chores or something.”

 

“Fiddleford—”

 

“Just trust me on this, Stanford!”

 

What other choice did he have?

* * *

 

It was a little past midnight when Stanley showed up, thinking he could sneak past Stanford by going through the shop. As soon as he was past the counter, Stanford was upon him and grabbing him by the shirt to keep him from going any further into the shack. “Ford, what the—?!”

 

“They're asleep. They aren't ready—”

 

“Well, it's not like I'm gonna get anything out of you!”

 

“No. Hell no. You got enough.”

 

“You're not even gonna let me put eyes on them so I know they're actually here and okay?”

 

Stanford glared at his brother, and suddenly all of his anger at him started to dwindle. A spark of it remained, but a flare of guilt washed over him for keeping him from Dipper and Mabel during this whole fiasco. Sighing, he grumbled, “Just don't wake them up.”

 

With that, Stanford led his twin upstairs for both of them to look in on Dipper and Mabel. When they peered through a crack in their bedroom door, they watched the much younger twins carefully. Stanford counted their breaths, assuring himself that neither were suffering from some terror in their vulnerable state. Mabel rarely ever had nightmares anymore, even after the attack and banishment. Dipper was usually safest when lying beside his sister. He was glad Stanley didn't question their sleeping together. Thought he knew only some of the wounds that had been inflicted on the twins, it was good his brother had the good sense to presume that Dipper and Mabel wouldn't be doing this if either of them were actually feeling safe in their own head.

 

Closing the door again, Stanley looked a bit less frantic after having made sure his grandchildren were somewhat alright. Moving back downstairs, the two wound up in the kitchen. Stanford gestured for his brother to sit, figuring he might as well stay since he was already here. There was no getting rid of him now, and he might as well tell him what he came to hear. Stanford sure as hell didn't want to, though. Putting the coffeepot on without bothering to ask if Stanley wanted any, he braced himself for the inevitable question. “Why are you so bent on keeping me from knowing what happened?”

 

Stanford didn't answer at first, inhaling loudly through the nose as he faced away. Looking up at the closed cupboards of the house that used to be theirs, he answered, “I didn't want you telling him what you told me.” When he turned around, Stanley's eyes had narrowed on him. He steeled himself against the stare, keeping his breathing as even as possible as they each waited for the other to speak.

 

It was Stanley who broke the potent silence. “What he . . . what Bill did to him,” he paused. He shifted his gaze away, gulping. Stanford could see him remembering what he'd read, cataloging the information he'd stolen from hospital records. “Was it—?”

 

“It was worse.” So, so much worse than what Bill had done to Stanford.

 

Stanley's gaze returned to his brother's and Stanford actually saw his eyes water. Blinking back the emotion, Stanley pointed out, “I still don't know what all he did to you.”

 

The coffeepot beeped and Stanford glanced away. “And you never will,” he said as started pulling coffee mugs from the cupboard.

* * *

 

“Finish it!”

 

“I can't!”

 

“You have to!”

 

“I—!”

 

“Finish it, and he goes with me!” Bill's voice cut in, and Ford just knew he had lost. He'd known he'd lost when Fiddleford had said he'd gotten the book containing the ritual needed to banish Bill from Ley. In their rush to be rid of Bill, Fiddleford and Ford had disturbed the salt sigils in which they were supposed to be standing, protected from the demon's incredibly long reach. That slowed the ritual so much and caused such a fuss that they'd almost set Bill loose in Fiddleford's basement. What's worse was that Ley had come in and tried to stop the ritual, still thinking Bill wasn't the one tormenting Ford every night. He realized rather quickly as he stared at the form the demon had taken in Ford's worst nightmares that he'd been so wrong. Bill had lunged for Ley, as he was closest and most assailable. Ford had left his circle and knocked his brother out of reach only to be caught himself.

 

Now he was here, sigils and signs burning bright and winds whipping all around them as the demon held Ford ransom. He'd never been so frozen from horror, insides twisting as he stared pleadingly at Fiddleford and Ley. He and the demon were on their knees, Bill's arms trapping his as the demon's fingers twined through his hair and applied pressure on either side of his skull. Claws dug into Ford's scalp, and his mouth gaped as Bill pressed himself against his back and whispered threats of what he would do to him if they both managed to get trapped from this world together. Ford squirmed in his hands, trying desperately to get away before Ley took over Ford's reading and Ford got dragged to hell with the demon.

 

“Ley, you have to finish!” Fiddleford cried.

 

“I can't!” Ley cried again, standing as far from Bill as he could get and he couldn't look Ford in the eye. He wouldn't. He stared blankly at the pages with this panicked expression, like he was the one about to have his head crushed by a demon. Ford looked to him, wanting nothing more than for his brother to help him but knowing somehow that he couldn't be saved. Not by anyone but himself and he was already losing hope.

 

“Things could have been great for us, Stan. Let me go, and I swear I won't kill him.” But he would kill you, Ford thought to his twin. He would kill Ley and Fiddleford, and then he'd make Ford's life a living hell. “Just close that book and we can forget all this happened.”

 

Steeling his resolve, Ford knew he couldn't let that happen. He already had several scratches and bites on his arms and torso from the initial capture, what was a few more. Closing his eyes, he waited for Bill's hands to loosen just the slightest bit. When he felt his fingers twitch and the palms reseat themselves on the sides of his head, he jerked his head back and slammed the back of his skull into the demon's jaw. That startled Bill enough for him to cry out and loosen his grip on Ford. Ford had seconds before the demon tightened his hold again, using them preciously by driving an elbow back into Bill's side before sliding out of his now loose hold and rolling forward. “Read it!” he screamed to both nerds, and Ley picked up quickly albeit quietly.

 

“Oh no you don't!” Bill shouted, flinging his hand out and grabbing Ford's leg as the trap lit, crackled, and opened beneath him. The demon sank down, Ford screaming and wide eyed as he was pulled with Bill. His heart pounded as he watched his brother falter in the last words, reaching out to grab his hand and only just missing it.

 

If Fiddleford hadn't chosen that exact moment to chuck the whole gigantic bag of road salt he'd stolen from the cops (he wasn't as weak as he looked), Ford would have gone down with Bill. As it was, Ley finished the ritual, something cracked, light flashed, and then everything stopped and went dead.

 

His heart was still pounding when Fiddleford and Ley were getting back on their feet. He could hardly move, afraid that as soon as he did the demon would reappear. It didn't matter that the pressure he usually felt as a result of Bill Cipher's presence had been lifted. It didn't matter that he was free. He still felt . . . incredibly lost.

 

The feeling turned to regret as soon as Ley uttered, “You really fucked things up this time.” Ford blinked twice when he'd heard it, not even bothering to look up at his twin as he forced himself up onto his feet. It was difficult, as he felt incredibly heavy under Ley's scrutiny. Was he really blaming him for this? Was he really? The very idea . . . he felt a stab in his chest and a pain that flooded him, doing more damage than anything Bill had caused. That said a lot, considering Bill had almost taken every last bit of his resolve from him. “Why'd you have to jump in front of me?”

 

“Stanley, he was—”

 

Ley even cut Fiddleford, his closest friend, off. “You could have gotten killed! I could've handled myself!”

 

Ford grit his teeth. This was . . . this was the thanks he got? For saving his brother's life? Did he have any idea what Bill could have done to him? Ford sure as hell did! He snapped, shoving his brother hard in the chest. “I was protecting you, asshole!”

 

“Maybe if you'd stopped trying so hard to protect me, none of this would have happened!”

 

“Stanley—,” this time it was the sound of Ford punching his twin directly in the face that shut Fiddleford up. “Stanford!” the smaller boy shouted in disbelief as Ley stumbled back. All other protests died on their tongues as they saw the tears streaming down Ford's face. Ley held his likely broken nose with one hand, his expression a mix of shock and hurt as he stared back at his twin. Ford didn't blink, didn't wipe away the tears this time. He just scowled, shaking from the encounter and the anger he felt before pushing past his brother and leaving them to deal with the mess. His mess. Right, this was his mess. He figured he'd cleaned up enough of theirs that they owed him this one. Because as far as he was concerned, he had no intentions of helping, cleaning up after, or protecting them ever again. Not if this was where it got him. Fiddleford spoke softer as he started, “Stanford, we—”

 

“Thanks for the help,” he muttered before leaving them. Walking home alone, he should have known better than to venture out at night while he was still so scared of shadows. He should have known better, but it was easier to hide his upset like this.

 

He wasn't going to sleep well for a very, very long time because in the end, Bill had gotten exactly what he wanted: Ford away from his brother and his friend. Now all he had left was a series of scars and injuries that might or might not fade, and a determination to never be anyone's caretaker or bitch again. Ley had always said trust no one. He took those words to heart as he estranged himself from their future projects. Trust no one, especially his dumb sibling he could never believe in again.

* * *

 

They sat there, forty to fifty years from the event that had torn their bond. Ultimately, Stanford had still sacrificed more than he could list to keep Stanley out of trouble. Fiddleford was a nutcase who probably erased his own memories of that day first before progressively destroying his mind. Stanford was once again a caretaker, and had been one for six years now. He had tried from the very beginning to keep the kids away from the things that had almost destroyed him and his brother, only to discover that they were about as prone as the older Pines twins had been. Of all the things they'd seen, he'd hoped they'd never have to go through this. His own eyes started to water as he thought of Dipper and what hell he'd seen, what he continued to see even in his nightmares. He thought of Mabel and Wendy, who had handled getting caught in the crossfire with a grace that made grown men look like simpering fools. He thought of Soos, who had had the incredible ability to make sure the lot of them kept trucking no matter how difficult things got. And in some cases, things were always going to be difficult. Like his feelings towards his twin. Stanford wasn't sure how he would ever feel about Stanley, which was tragic mostly because of the lengths he'd gone to to keep his dumbass safe.

 

Stanley interrupted his thoughts with, “I never got the chance to apologize.” He stared intently into his cup of coffee, which he was still waiting for to cool off enough to drink. “For not believing you.”

 

Stanford shook his head, not looking up. “He made sure you wouldn't. It's not your fault.”

 

There was a long pause before Stanley uttered, barely audible, “It isn't yours either.” Stanford snorting, shaking his head again as he went ahead and sipped the coffee despite it still being too hot. It burned on the way down his throat, and it felt like it was scalding his insides too. Then Stanley asked, “He told you I feared drowning, eh?” Stanford nodded. “Why?”

 

Thinking back on the tainted dreams of swing sets on the beach and how he had once felt about them, his only reply was, “Stupid reasons.” Stanley didn't respond, still staring at his coffee. In lieu of the silence, Stanford asked, “What did you actually fear?”

 

The withered stare Stanley gave him might have made him punch his twin decades ago. As of right now, it only succeeded in annoying him. “I'd think the answer was obvious.”

 

“Clearly, it wasn't,” he quipped.

 

“I was afraid of losing you, you fucking idiot.” Stanford stilled, eyes locked on one place on the table as he processed that statement. “Before Bill had shown up, my nightmares were of you dying somehow. Usually by saving me from monsters.” Silence passed between them. Then, as inappropriate as it was, Stanford started chuckling. Rubbing his eyes and face with one hand, his shoulders shook as he laughed at what Stanley had just said. He could only imagine his brother's face when he declared, “That's not funny, asshole.”

 

“I know,” Stanford agreed, taking a deep breath and dropping the laughter. Rubbing his face one more time, he raised the coffee to his lips and uttered, “That fucking bastard.”

 

Stanley dropped his glower, then uttered, “Yeah,” before sipping from his mug for the first time.

 

They heard footsteps sliding towards the kitchen then, looking up to see Mabel making her way to them. She blinked several times, like she was assuring herself she wasn't seeing double. Then she asked, “Grandpa Stan, what are you doing here?”

 

“Nosing,” Stanford said, making his twin glare at him.

 

Stanley had about as much practice lying as Stanford did. He rarely chose to not to anymore, but this was one occasion where he actually told the truth and agreed with Stanford. “Yeah. Heard there was . . . heard there was trouble.”

 

Mabel nodded, accepting the news better most likely because she was half asleep. “Need something, Mabel sweetie?” Stanford asked.

 

She sighed. “I was getting some Mabel knockout juice as opposed to regular Mabel juice.” She rubbed her eyes, alluding to her latest experimental concoction before clarifying, “He won't go back to sleep again.”

 

Before Stanford could say anything, Stanley reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch of some form. Tossing it to her, she caught it against her chest as he said, “Put this under his pillow.”

 

She squinted at it. “What is it?”

 

“Something a picked up along the way. Helps you relax. Might even help with some nightmares.” He shrugged sadly and said, “Not all of them though.”

 

Mabel stared at it before walking over to the fridge for her juice anyway. “You know he's just gonna pick it apart in the morning, right? Figure out what's really in it?”

 

“Hey, at least he'll be doing something vaguely normal for him.”

 

Stanford and Mabel both smiled at the reasoning. “Yeah,” she said, pouring some juice into the cup she had retrieved. Before heading back to bed, she asked, “You staying a while, Grandpa Stan?”

 

Stanley sighed, which gave Stanford the perfect opportunity to answer for him. “Maybe a couple days,” he said. His brother looked to him, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Unless there's some cryptozoology project you'd rather go do or something,” Stanford pointed out.

 

Stanley's eyes narrowed, like it was some big secret that he wasn't  _actually_ doing what he was supposed to and staying away from paranormal activity. “Me nosing, huh?”

 

“Yeah, you nosing.” Because honestly Stanford didn't care what his brother was up to lately. Most of the danger had stopped following him and he'd been able to move on. Now it was Stanford's job to make sure the same happened for Dipper and Mabel. If Stanley was willing to help with that, maybe there was still some time left for Stanford to believe in something again.

 

It would be the most satisfying form of retaliation against the demon who had tried (and failed) to tear their family apart.

 


End file.
